


Gwador: Sorrow's First Dawning

by Eressë (eresse21)



Series: Greenleaf and Imladris [5]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:25:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eresse21/pseuds/Eress%C3%AB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas faces the first great tragedy in his life and is unable to cope with its aftermath. Fifth story in a series chronicling the millennia spanning relationship of Legolas and Elrohir from the moment they meet beneath the eaves of Greenwood the Great to the years of the War of the Ring and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _The characters belong to the wizard of storytelling himself, JRR Tolkien and/or his estate. No offense is intended or profit made in my use of them._
> 
> The events of this story take place around the time the shadow first fell upon Eryn Galen or Greenwood the Great. The name Mirkwood would presumably only have come into usage quite recently and so I still frequently refer to the forest by its original name.

Imladris, _Lotessë_ T.A. 1052  
Elrond and his family were just settling down in the Hall of Fire after the evening meal when the messengers from Greenwood arrived. Informed that the Wood-elves had begged for an immediate audience with the Imladrin lord, Elrond had excused himself and left to meet with Thranduil’s emissaries. Nearly three-quarters of an hour passed before he returned to the hall and his expression was such that his wife and children stared at him in alarm.

“Dearest, what is wrong?” Celebrían exclaimed as her husband sagged into the nearest chair and wearily covered his face with one hand.

“ _Melethen_ ”—my love—he murmured and beckoned to her to come to him. To the others’ worsening apprehension, he pulled her onto his lap when she complied and held her as if to shield her from some great calamity.

“Elrond?” she queried, stroking his dark hair. “Please, husband, you are frightening all of us. What was Thranduil’s message?”

Elrond heaved a shuddering sigh then glanced around at the others. The twins and Arwen were watching him with obvious agitation while Glorfindel, Erestor and Almáriel tried to remain calm but with little success.

“A band of brigands entered Eryn Galen some two months ago,” he began. “Ithilwen and Nimeithel were out riding with a few warriors in attendance. They encountered the scoundrels and there was a skirmish when the men saw the women’s jewelry.” He stopped and hugged his wife even more tightly. “There were too many of these bandits and Ithilwen and Nimeithel were taken captive.”

There was a concerted gasp of horror. 

“They were not—” Elladan began, his face draining of color at the very thought of the Elven queen and her daughter in the rapacious hands of thieving men. 

Elrond shook his head. “Nay, thank the Powers, they were spared that horror. Legolas gave chase at once and caught up with the band. But...” He looked at his wife, his eyes haunted. “...he was too late to keep them from slaying Ithilwen.”

Appalled silence greeted his announcement. Celebrían stared in shocked disbelief at her husband. She had been close to the woodland queen and corresponded regularly with Ithilwen in between each other’s visits to their respective realms. She tried to speak, to deny what had been said but no words would come out. And then she suddenly buried her face in Elrond’s neck and began to weep silently, her slender shoulders shaking in her grief. Elrond could only hold her consolingly.

“Thranduil is devastated,” he continued dully. “‘Tis a wonder he even managed to give thought to informing us of this tragedy.”

“And Nimeithel?” Elladan inquired. “Are they certain she was not... touched?”

Elrond nodded. “Legolas came upon them before they had done more than divest the women of their valuables.” He hesitated. “Ithilwen was slain when she fought their attempts to despoil her and Nimeithel.”

“Elbereth,” Elladan whispered. Beside him, Arwen trembled violently and was promptly enfolded in a motherly hug by Almáriel.

“Thranduil requests a... meeting with me regarding... the aftermath of the incident,” Elrond added slowly. 

“What of Legolas?” Elrohir frowningly queried. “How did he take his mother’s death?”

Elrond glanced up at his younger son, surprised by his intuitiveness. “Strange that you should ask,” he remarked. “‘Twas the main reason for Thranduil's request that I go to Greenwood.”

“What do you mean?”

“The messengers were not clear on this but I received the distinct impression that Legolas was greatly affected by the incident.” He looked from one twin to the other. “‘Twas he who was on patrol that week and he who had assured the queen that ‘twould be safe to leave the boundaries of their kingdom. And despite his best efforts the leaders of the band managed to escape.”

Elrohir hissed in instant comprehension. “He blames himself, doesn’t he?” he said with a certainty born of his knowledge of the prince’s character. 

“It would seem so,” Elrond admitted. “I cannot be certain. The messengers were reticent on that matter.”

“We must go at once, _Ada_ ”—Papa—Elrohir declared. 

“Nay, that I cannot allow,” Glorfindel abruptly said. “The mountains are too perilous to cross at present; 'tis a miracle that Thranduil's messengers made it here without incident. Furthermore, Orcs have been running wild, ravaging settlements and villages as they go.” At the mutinous expression on Elrohir’s face, he pointed out firmly: “We are under siege ourselves in a manner of speaking. Thranduil will understand that we must protect Imladris first. We will be of no use to Legolas or anyone else if we are overrun from lack of caution or foresight.”

“Glorfindel is right,” Elrond softly agreed. “Much as I long to leave this very night for Eryn Galen, I must admit it would be foolhardy to do so. And there have been reports of banditry by men and orcs amongst the villages just beyond the Bruinen. ‘Tis our duty to assist those who cannot defend themselves.”

Elrohir sighed vexedly and sat back with a dark scowl. Erestor placed a pacifying hand on his shoulder. “If we turn all our efforts to dealing with our foes, we will vanquish them all the sooner and be free to go to Eryn Galen,” he reminded the recalcitrant twin.

The Elf-knight looked at him then nodded and persisted no more. Elrond cast a grateful glance at his chief steward before turning his attention to his grieving wife. 

*****************************************  
Glossary:  
Lotessë - Quenya for May

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Eryn Galen, _Cerveth_ T.A. 1052  
Nearly two months passed after they’d received the news of Ithilwen’s death before Elrond and his wife and the twins were able to go to the Woodland Realm. Just as an incursion by brigands had claimed the queen’s life, so had similar incidents with both men and Orcs threatened the borders of Rivendell and the haven’s neighbors. They’d had to see to the business of securing their own realm first and the safety of their people.

It was a far different place from the dense but wholesome forest they’d once known. A shadow was now upon it, encroaching slowly but surely upon the Wood-elves’ lands. It was easy to understand why men had began to call the forest Mirkwood and even easier to see how bandits or Orcs could have escaped the Elves’ vigilance. Evil of unknown origins was at work against Thranduil’s people and if not for their valor, strength and cunning, they might have been overcome at the very start of this creeping pestilence their green wood suffered from. 

As they traveled the elven path, they came upon the remains of the outlaws Legolas and his scouts had captured. The corpses had been strung from the trees as a warning to other trespassers, a grisly signpost that spoke of the extremes Thranduil’s people had been driven to. The Wood-elves as a rule were not given to such hostile tactics but the fate of their beloved queen hung heavily upon them all. At any rate, it seemed their newfound animosity to humans was effective. Men now hesitated to enter Greenwood as much from fear of the Elves’ retribution as from the rumors of the growing darkness within. 

It was with some relief that they found the Woodland Realm itself still untouched by the malaise that blighted the rest of Eryn Galen. For how long nobody could say but all prayed the Silvan Elves would withstand this latest threat to their well-being and security. 

They were welcomed at the doors of the royal halls by a sorrowful royal family. Even Melthoron shed his arrogance and antagonism in his grief, gaining Elladan and Elrohir’s compassion for the first time in their oft-fractious acquaintance. They spoke consolingly to him and Brethildor and spared even more comfort for Nimeithel who had known the terror of being in the bandits’ clutches and actually witnessed her mother’s killing. But it was Legolas who drew the most concern from Elrond’s sons. The youngest prince’s welcome was understandably subdued but something else lurked in his blue eyes. Something neither twin could discern but which made both feel vaguely alarmed.

oOoOoOo

Thranduil told them everything that very day. The details of the first skirmish and the abduction of his queen and daughter. The rescue that had ended in tragedy. And Legolas’s continued refusal to absolve himself of blame. That was the crux of the matter; the main reason the Elvenking had requested a visit from Elrond. Nimeithel was slowly recovering from the trauma of her experience but Legolas was not. If anything his state of mind seemed to be deteriorating if what he had done since Ithilwen’s death was any indication. Already there was talk that the youngest prince was going mad.

“That is utter rubbish!” Elrohir exclaimed, outraged that anyone should even think thusly about his friend. “Who dares spread such slanderous tales about him?” 

“Peace, _ion nîn_ ”—my son—Elrond quietly reproved. “‘Tis only loose talk.”

“Loose talk is oft mistaken for truth when it has been around long enough,” the Elf-knight retorted, clenching a hand. “I will not have Legolas demeaned by unthinking gossips!”

Elladan placed a restraining hand on his twin’s wrist. “It will not hold,” he said. “Legolas is much too beloved of the people for such a tale to last long enough to be taken for truth.”

“Nevertheless, Elrohir is right,” Thranduil unexpectedly concurred. “‘Tis debasing talk and sullies my son’s honor. If any were to get back to him, it would only further undermine what little peace of mind he still possesses.” He glanced at Elrond. “I had hoped you would know how to help him considering your reputation as a healer.”

Elrond nodded. “I will do everything in my power to help him,” he said. “But I warrant it will take an inordinate length of time to heal his spirit. And your son has never been a cooperative patient. Which begs the question. Will he allow us to get close enough to effect any kind of cure?”

“Us?” 

“Aye, Thranduil, my whole family. Particularly my sons. I cannot do this alone. For anything to happen, Legolas will have to put his trust in others first and we have long acknowledged that he trusts my sons above all others save for yourself mayhap.”

“You speak truly,” the Elvenking conceded. “But if he trusts the twins so much why, do you wonder if he will let them get close to him?”

“Because he seemed... distant with us when we greeted him,” Elladan took up the tale. “He has never been so restrained with us before. I fear he does not welcome our company in this matter.” 

Elrohir shook his head emphatically. “Nay, brother, if Legolas behaved thusly with us, ‘tis not because he did not desire our company. Rather he is shamed by what he perceives as his egregious failure and therefore thinks himself unworthy of our regard. His reserve was not born of dislike for us but of his sense of disgrace.”

The others stared at him. Elrond smiled faintly.

“My ever insightful Elf-knight,” he remarked. “I had forgotten how well you know Legolas. And as such I am fully inclined to agree with your evaluation of his behavior.”

“As am I,” Elladan added. “I am an idiot three times over not to have thought of that.” He regarded his twin fondly. “But then, as Father put it, you know him very well. Better than anybody else, I dare say.” 

“Be that as it may, what can we do for him?” Elrohir directed them back to the meat of the matter. “We must heal him soonest before he breaks under the strain of this malady.”

“We will help him,” Elrond assured his younger son. “But before we can do so, he must be willing to be helped.” He looked at Thranduil. “From your account, it seems he has kept everyone at bay. Even his own family.”

Thranduil nodded. “He became even more remote after the incident with Brethildor.”

“What about Mithrael and Heledir?” Elladan inquired, referring to Legolas’s childhood friends.

The king shook his head. “He allowed them to console him for a space but nothing more. He soon retreated from them as well.” He looked helplessly at the Imladrin lord, an expression so unusual for the masterfully confident king that it unsettled the others. “I am at my wits’ end, Elrond. I fear daily for his sanity. I fervently pray he will open up to your sons at the very least.”

“As we all do,” the loremaster said. “But for now, allow us to observe him. Mayhap his demeanor will provide us with more clues as to what will be the best course of action to take with him.”

After Thranduil gave his acquiescence, Celebrían stirred. She had not said a word throughout the discussion but now she softly said, “And what of you, Thranduil? How are you coping with your loss?”

The Elvenking started at her words. Until then he'd not spoken to them of his own grief, so involved was he in the problem of his youngest son. 

“I miss her dreadfully,” he said heavily. “But I am consoled by the knowledge that she did not suffer overmuch before her death,” he added, visibly striving to control his emotions. “Had they succeeded in their intent against her...” He stopped and suddenly shuddered. They were all overcome by the naked anguish in the proud blue eyes. “Not that it would have mattered to me had they done so,” the Elvenking whispered brokenly. “I would not have cared if only I could still have her by my side today. But she would not have borne such a dishonor to herself. She would have faded had she survived. I still would have lost her.” His voice caught at the last and he began to weep.

Celebrían swiftly rose from her seat and took the widowed king into her warm arms. She spoke no words but simply held him and allowed him to vent his grief against her shoulder. 

oOoOoOo

The following day, Thranduil led his guests to his queen’s green grave. The only other Elves in attendance were his children and some of his late wife’s kin. Celebrían openly wept over the flower-bedecked mound. She and Ithilwen had been almost like the siblings neither had. She sang a sweet and haunting song for her friend, letting the wind carry the lyrics and the music west over the mountains and across the plains beyond to the shores of Middle-earth and thereby over sea to the Blessed Realm where the queen’s spirit now abided in the Halls of Awaiting. This last gift to Ithilwen brought a measure of peace and comfort to her bereaved family. All that is except one. 

Elrond frowned as he observed Thranduil’s youngest son. Legolas kept apart from his family, his face stony, his eyes blank and staring. When one or the other of his mother’s kinsmen attempted to comfort him, he would flinch and shrink from their touch. 

The Lord of Rivendell was doubly troubled by the prince’s conduct. Despite Thranduil’s warning from the day before, he was still not prepared to witness firsthand the young Elf’s altered behavior. This simply was not right. Legolas was the most affectionate of Thranduil’s sons; the most accepting of affection and friendship in return. This cold, withdrawn demeanor was glaringly uncharacteristic of him. 

Movement to his right caught his eyes and he turned his head. Elladan and Elrohir had detached themselves from the party of Rivendell Elves and crossed over to where the royal family gathered. Elrond exchanged a glance with his wife.

Curious stares followed the twins’ progress as they walked to Legolas, flanking him when they reached him. Elrond watched the prince closely. Legolas did not cringe from his sons’ proximity; did not move to distance himself from the brethren.

Elladan raised a hand to the archer’s shoulder and squeezed it comfortingly. At Legolas’s other side, Elrohir took the prince’s hand in his warm grip and held it, stroking the latter’s palm soothingly with his thumb. The prince neither flinched nor spurned their touch. After a while, he trembled visibly then leaned against Elrohir, as if in need of support. The younger twin immediately threw a protective arm around him. At the same time, Legolas blindly reached out his free hand to Elladan. The older twin quickly took it and held it fast.

Elrond glanced at Thranduil. The Elvenking had not failed to notice his son’s acceptance of the brethren’s loving attention when he had rejected all others, even those of his own kin. Thranduil looked in the healer’s direction. Their eyes met. In that one swift exchange, they came to an understanding regarding the Woodland Realm’s youngest prince. By nightfall, Thranduil informed his son that he would depart with the Imladrin party a fortnight hence and that he was to stay in Rivendell until Elrond released him from his care.

Legolas submitted to his father’s decision with troubling meekness and a distinct lack of enthusiasm. That in itself was alarming. Ever had the prince looked forward to every visit to Rivendell though he was recalcitrant enough to take due umbrage at being ordered there precipitately. Yet now he accepted Thranduil’s decree unquestioningly and set about preparing for an extended stay in the vale with all the excitement of a sloth. Needless to say, his strange conduct disquieted the twins though they were already well informed of its cause.

Watching Legolas listlessly pack his personal effects a few days before their departure, they wondered what would rouse their friend out of his self-imposed isolation. In an effort to dispel some of the prince’s gloom, Elrohir quietly said, “We sympathize with you in your loss, Legolas. But, if it is any comfort to you, I would remind you that this sundering is not forever. She will be granted rebirth soonest for so gentle and kind a soul as your mother would surely be released from the Halls of Awaiting ere too long.”

With shocking suddenness, the prince turned on him, eyes flashing furiously. “And what good will that do any of us when a whole ocean separates these lands from Aman?! Spare me your empty condolences, Elrohir!”

Shocked silence greeted this muted eruption. Legolas returned to his packing, his body vibrating with barely suppressed anger. And then Elladan’s tight rebuke pierced the uncomfortable quiet. 

“Elrohir meant no offense and only sought to ease your pain,” he pointed out, controlled ire edging his words.

The prince stopped and glanced at the younger twin. Elrohir’s face was impassive but his eyes revealed some of the hurt Legolas’s reaction had evoked though he strove to conceal it. Legolas flushed guiltily.

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” he murmured contritely. 

The Elf-knight regarded him gravely for a space. “Your temper is understandable for you are overwrought in your grief,” he said at length. “You had no need for platitudes.” 

Legolas felt his shame deepen at the darkling Elf’s remarkable forbearance. “Mayhap not platitudes,” he whispered. “But I need the friend who uttered them evermore.”

The twilight eyes glittered with argent fire. “You have me, Calenlass,” he declared soothingly. “You have both of us. Always.”

He took no notice of his brother’s sharp, observant stare. His concern lay with the golden-haired Elf whose spirit was so deplorably distressed that he would speak with such reckless inconsiderateness to his closest friends.

*********************************************  
Glossary:  
Cerveth - Sindarin for July  
Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir's pet name for Legolas)

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

Imladris, _Urimë_ T.A. 1052  
Legolas ran water into a tub in the bathing rooms. They had arrived in Rivendell just in time for the evening meal. Immediately after dinner, he’d asked leave to go to his bedchamber. His request had been granted but Elrond had suggested he take a hot bath to relax himself before attempting to settle in for the night. 

It was a sensible suggestion. Legolas had not had a decent night’s sleep during the entire journey from Mirkwood to the hidden vale. Not even his waking dreams had brought him enough respite to revive his flagging spirit. Indeed, he had not had a decent night’s sleep or restful reverie since... He resolutely pushed the memory from his mind. It was precisely what had plagued him these past many months. What had prompted his father to place him in Elrond’s benign custody.

As he shed his clothes, he thought back a little guiltily to his recent behavior toward the twins. They had been most patient with him from the first day in Mirkwood all the way through the trip over the mountains to Imladris, stoically enduring his taciturn behavior, his tendency to snap at them even for the least provocation and his refusal to let them give him adequate comfort for his bereavement. Elrohir especially had been almost painfully understanding, refusing to let the prince’s dark moods affect him to the point of losing his temper even when said dark moods led the prince to insult or offend him more oft than not. Legolas flushed uncomfortably.

It was easy to pick on Elrohir. The younger twin was so open with him, put so much trust in him that he hid nothing from Legolas, not even his most grievous faults. Consequently, the archer had a veritable arsenal of verbal weapons he could employ against the Elf-knight if he so chose. Regrettably, he had and though he’d also been quick to apologize each time he'd hurt his friend, it did not change the fact that Elrohir had done nothing whatsoever to merit such treatment nor did it lessen the reprehensiveness of repeatedly breaking the darkling Elf’s trust by using his own confidences against him. But Elrohir remained steadfast, even defending him against a naturally indignant Elladan on several occasions. 

Legolas sighed. There lay the difference between his respective relationships with the twins. They were both close to him, so close that in the century just past, they had taken him in as their sworn brother. He had counted it an honor and privilege that they should deem him as dear to them as their own sister to name him their _gwador_ , or sworn brother. But Elrohir had proven the less reticent in his affections, the more perceptive and accommodating of the prince’s needs, always ready and willing to accept his flaws and still love him in spite of them. 

Coupled with Elladan’s equally caring though less resounding regard, Legolas felt so complete that he found he did not crave the company of others when the twins were around. He had to admit that he thrived under such tender handling. After all, he rarely if ever received the like from his own brothers and the attentions of his sister simply were not the same as those one might expect from male siblings. 

_Yet I dare to mistreat them when all they desire is to help me. I must school my unruly ways lest I lose their love and that I cannot bear._

He stepped into the sunken bath, sat down in one embrasure and leaned against the tiled back. He closed his eyes and let the comforting warmth of the bath steal over him. Lord Elrond was right. The steaming water was helpful. If only he could banish the thoughts that sought to invade his peace. Even now, as he tried to unwind and keep his mind blank, upsetting memories tried to snake their way into his consciousness, threatening to thwart his efforts. He heaved a frustrated sigh as he felt his tension returning. 

He was startled out of his inner struggle when sudden movement before him snared his senses. His eyes snapped open in time to see Elrohir slide into the water and settle himself opposite the prince. The twin was studying him with concern.

“Elladan and I swore to watch over you,” he explained in answer to the archer’s unspoken question. 

Legolas peered at him somewhat vexedly. “Even in my bath?” he queried with caustic crispness.

Elrohir shrugged, disregarding his friend’s less than welcoming tone. “Whatever it takes,” he replied. 

“And are you going to camp out in my bedchamber as well?” Legolas asked a little angrily.

Elrohir remained annoyingly composed. “Nay, Elladan has volunteered to do that,” he replied evenly.

Legolas let out an exasperated breath. “What is this? A conspiracy? I am no child in need of babysitters!”

“Of course not,” Elladan agreed as he entered the chamber, carrying a tray upon which reposed a crystal phial and a few small ceramic bowls. “You are an Elf in need of friends and that’s what we are.”

He knelt by the bath and poured the contents of some of the bowls into the water. A fragrant scent filled the air as the herbs mingled with the bath water. Elladan then emptied the remaining bowls into the bath as well and the aroma of spices soon joined the delicious herb-scented steam. Legolas breathed it in appreciatively and suddenly realized that the herbs and spices, when combined, provided a wonderfully soothing effect on his body and senses. 

He could now regard his friends with a little more amiability, his good humor restored. “I am sorry for snapping at you earlier,” he told the younger twin, conscious of the inadequacy of his apology. Yet another in an embarrassingly long line of requests for forgiveness.

“No need to apologize, Calenlass,” Elrohir replied. 

“But you did not have to get in with me,” Legolas could not help adding. “Surely you do not think you have to bathe me as well.”

Elrohir smiled and shook his head. "'Tis not the reason I joined you,” he said as he took the now unstoppered phial from his brother. Elladan rose to his feet and left the chamber. Legolas stared in apprehension as Elrohir moved toward him purposefully. “Turn around, _ernilen_.”—my prince. 

Legolas hesitated then did as he was bid. Looking over his shoulder, he watched curiously as Elrohir poured a small amount of what looked like oil into his palm, placed the phial on the edge of the bath, then rubbed his hands together. The oil had a mild, rather fruity scent. Legolas almost jumped when he felt the other’s hands move over his back in firm, muscle-easing strokes.

By Elbereth, that really feels good, he thought with pleasure as the skillful fingers moved down the length of his back, seeking and soothing tight muscles along the way. He glanced up as Elladan returned bearing a goblet of mulled wine. This, the older twin handed to him.

“ _Sogo sen_ ,” he ordered. Drink this.

Legolas slowly sipped the heated wine while Elrohir kneaded his right shoulder and arm, smoothing the kinks from the joints, easing the tension from the muscles. Trying to fight off the sudden languor that threatened to overtake him, he glanced quizzically at Elrohir. The twin, intent on his task, only spared him the briefest glance in reply. 

“Why here?” he asked. “Could you not have waited until after my bath?”

Elrohir smiled as he poured more oil into his palm and began working on the prince’s left arm. “If you were merely tired, aye, I would have waited. But you are not only bone-weary, you are also unusually tense and ill-humored, lack sleep and are altogether in a state of great distress.” 

Elladan grinned at his twin’s succinct description of the prince. “The combination of massage and healing bath works wonders, Legolas. You will sleep well tonight, we guarantee it.”

“And will you stay in my chambers to guard my slumber?” Legolas scowled. Unexpectedly, he yawned, then blinked at the older twin in surprise.

“Mayhap I won’t have to,” Elladan chuckled. “My brother’s efforts seem to be working all too well.”

“Indeed they are,” Legolas admitted ruefully. “I do not recall being this eager for bed in the longest time!”

Elrohir replied, “Then I count my efforts well worth it.” Legolas did not have to see his face to know he was smiling. “Turn around, Legolas. Just a little more then it’s off to bed with you.”

Legolas could only nod sleepily as he complied. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the younger twin’s attentions to his torso. It was the most relaxing massage he’d ever experienced. He could not remember anything quite like it. He distantly heard the twins’ soft banter as Elrohir finished his task.

“Ai, we will end up carrying him to his chamber,” Elladan chuckled. “I think he is already asleep.” 

“Well, that is what we wanted,” Elrohir said, gratified. “Hand me the towel, _gwaniuar_.”—older twin.

Together they helped him out of the bath. He was vaguely conscious of Elrohir patting him dry while Elladan ran a comb through his hair until the damp locks fell in a smooth stream of silver gold. He managed to rouse himself long enough to allow Elrohir to dress him in a thin robe.

“Can you walk, Legolas?” the Elf-knight queried. 

“Hmmm?”

Muffled laughter greeted his mumbled response. “That certainly answers your question,” Elladan chortled. “Can you manage him?”

“Easily,” Elrohir replied. 

Legolas felt a slight shock when the younger twin lifted him in his arms as he would a child. “Put me down, Elrohir!” he protested drowsily. “I can walk.” 

“Of course you can,” the other Elf answered humorously. “But we should like to get you into your bed before the night ends so shut up and let me carry you to your room.”

Surrendering to the sweet pull of sleep, Legolas made no further utterances but nestled into his friend’s arms and allowed himself to be borne to his chamber. There they tucked him into bed as tenderly as they would a babe before departing for their own rooms.

oOoOoOo

He could not complain about the days that followed. As with all his visits to Rivendell, there was invariably something to occupy him; the twins made sure of that. They wore him out with riding, climbing, trekking and swimming as well as less physically demanding endeavors such as mind-games, art and music and even the simple but pleasurable pastime of reading.

Arwen, too, threw herself into entertaining him though her forms of distraction were distinctly feminine in nature. Since Legolas did not have the heart to reject her efforts, he perforce found himself in the kitchen ineptly rolling dough for pastry, struggling not to get hopelessly entangled whilst laboring at the loom, or helping the Elf-maiden prune Lady Celebrían’s prize roses in the flower garden by the summerhouse. 

Celebrían was seen to offer prayers of supplication to the Valar on these occasions and once even apologized to her beloved roses for subjecting them to such abuse. Mayhap the Powers heard her prayers or perhaps a Wood-elf’s affinity with nature’s plant-life extended even to cultivated ones for, surprisingly, the roses survived and even thrived under his care much to the lady’s relief.

Yes, he could not complain. Not really. Except for one thing.

Elrond forbade any activity of a martial nature and refused to rescind the ban even after the archer pleaded with him to reconsider. Therefore, he was not permitted to join the brethren when either or both led patrols out of Rivendell and even practice in sword or knife-play or hand-to-hand combat was judiciously curtailed. 

He chafed at the decree, deplored the instances he was forced to spend in quieter pastimes especially when it meant separation from both twins at the same time. For the high-spirited Greenwood prince, such days were deemed deathly boring as his ebullience did not exactly go well with reserved Erestor or the rest of Elrond's counsellors whom he considered rather on the stodgy side. And while Glorfindel and Lindir were more to his liking personality-wise, neither could spare as much time as the twins did to keep their guest happily occupied. But he could not oppose Elrond on the matter; not when his own father had made it clear that he was to obey the Imladrin lord to the letter no matter how personally odious he might find the latter's decisions to be. 

And so the days passed into a month and the month became two and then three and time went by without any incident of note. Or discernible progress. For despite the twins’ considerable exertions, Legolas kept his feelings and thoughts reined in. He still did not mourn his mother’s passing, did not confide in them the horror and grief he had known upon discovering her death, did not deviate from the disturbing pattern of erratic mood swings as he alternated between bouts of uncharacteristic snappishness, melancholic reticence and ghastly cheer.

This last was the most troubling of all for it was so patently false and forced it grated on everyone's nerves. It was all they could do not to shake him in frustration when he put on yet another smile that did not reach his eyes or uttered a jest that bore no relation to true merriment. And they would fervently wish once more that the archer would finally give in and express the bottled up emotions that fairly seethed within him. Yet the twins knew better than to force the issue. They would have to let time do its work. Time and, hopefully, their own diligence as they waited out the insidious effects of their friend’s affliction. 

Meanwhile, they continued as they were, keeping him company, offering solace if he should ever seek it and stealthily checking on him in his sleep each night, never alone but with each other or some other male member of the household. Of this particular service the woodland prince remained blissfully and perhaps mercifully oblivious. 

**************************************  
Glossary:  
Urimë – Quenya for August 

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hisimë_ T.A. 1052  
One bracingly cool morning Legolas looked out his window in time to espy Elladan and Glorfindel and several warriors apparently preparing to depart. His room overlooked the stables and the thickly wooded hills beyond, a view he favored while in Rivendell. He frowned thoughtfully as he observed them moving about, slinging packs onto their steeds. It was evident they would be gone for an extended length of time. 

There could be no doubt about it. The older twin and Rivendell’s captain were taking a troop out on errantry. That was unusual considering the time of the year. Only the most urgent of reasons would necessitate such venturing this late in the season.

He turned from the window for a moment when Elrohir entered his chamber bearing missives from his family in Eryn Galen before returning his regard to Elladan and the Elven warriors. The younger twin noted his interest in the activity below his window and frowned slightly.

“Where are Elladan and Glorfindel heading?” Legolas asked, his eyes riveted on the scene outside.

“They are going to investigate reports of brigands in the east,” Elrohir replied. 

“East?”

“Aye, and they are steadily moving westward towards our territory.”

“A large band?”

“Large enough to cause much grief amongst their victims. They are not familiar to us. Glorfindel suspects they came over the Misty Mountains. The few who were slain in encounters in the villages that fought back carried booty from as far as Dale.”

Legolas’s frown deepened. “Indeed,” he murmured.

He felt Elrohir’s hand clap firmly on his shoulder.

“Do not even think of joining them,” the twin tersely said. “You cannot leave Imladris unless Father gives you permission to do so.”

Legolas scowled. “It seems I don’t have much of a choice,” he muttered.

Elrohir peered at him suspiciously. “Give me your word that you won’t try to leave, Legolas,” he insisted.

Sapphire eyes flashed in annoyance but the twin stood his ground. Legolas sighed and said, “I promise.” When Elrohir still looked at him warily, he added testily, “I gave you my word. Surely you trust me.” 

Elrohir hesitated then nodded. “Very well,” he said. “I will see you at the midday meal then.” He made to leave then glanced back at his friend. “I do trust you, Calenlass,” he reminded the prince. And then he left the room.

oOoOoOo

The Imladrin patrol set up camp in a wooded area close to the last village the brigands had pillaged. The smoking ruins of several cottages and the still shocked countenances of the inhabitants attested to the recentness of the attack. It stood to reason that the bandits, lacking the near-supernatural fleetness and evasiveness of Elves, would not have gotten far.

While he and Glorfindel awaited the reports of their scouts, Elladan took a moment to be alone, leaning against a slender beech to gaze at the night sky. As always he sought out his grandsire’s bright light for Eärendil had always been as much a beacon of hope and familial affection to him as it was the Elves’ most beloved star. 

It was a cold November evening with mist curling its icy tendrils around the trees and thickly carpeting the chill ground; of no matter to the Elves but, hopefully, detrimental enough to slow down the human band of scoundrels they were hunting. The Elf-warrior did not let misplaced pride lead him to disdain any advantage given them. 

He pondered the problem of his woodland friend. What would it take to get Legolas to let go? He and Elrohir had tried just about everything to coax the prince into venting his so obviously repressed feelings. It was perturbing that even Elrohir hadn't yet breached the archer's well-entrenched defenses. That was so rare an occurrence as to be nearly non-existent and therefore cause for considerable dismay. 

Thoughts of his twin led to another series of conjectures. Was he the only one who had as yet marked Elrohir's conduct of late? Nay, not even of late, the Elf-warrior mused. _It has been there from the start yet he denies my allegations, chides me for even suggesting that..._ He let out a frustrated exhalation. Useless to think about that now. It would only distract him from the task at hand. 

He was about to straighten up when a slender figure appeared out of the ephemeral whiteness, a rakish gleam in its eyes. Elladan went still as the other Elf approached. It was Helmir, a warrior he’d had occasion to keep bed-company with. Wordlessly, the Elven swordsman pressed closer, effectively trapping the twin against the beech. For a moment, they stared at each other and then the newcomer closed his lips upon Elladan’s. For a few moments, they remained thus, quietly enjoying the sensations of this unlooked for pleasure. And then Helmir drew away, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. 

Elladan chuckled softly at the other Elf’s audacity. Though he kept intimate company far more often with women, the older twin very much relished his dalliances with Elves of his kind, particularly fellow soldiers. There was a peculiar piquancy in bedding an Elf who had faced the same rigors and perils as he; an undeniable thrill in taking one who was of equal strength and valor. It was an experience one did not find with females, not even amongst the warrior maids of Lórien and Greenwood. For some, it could be so addictive as to impel them to forswear the company of the gentler sex evermore. 

“You are presumptuous, Helmir,” he remarked, the sensual lilt of his voice blunting the sting of his words. 

Helmir grinned. “Nay, I merely thought to give you some ease, my lord. As I had the pleasure of doing in the past.”

Elladan captured his gaze and held it. The smoldering depths in the twin’s eyes were enough to undo any being, more so one who had previously known far more than those eyes. Helmir lost some of his composure under that blue-tinged stormy regard.

“Aye, so you did,” Elladan drawled. “I remember your attentions quite well, so accommodating were you of my wishes.”

Slight color touched the cheeks of the other warrior at the Elvenlord’s provocative utterance. “I can still be... most accommodating... if that would please you, my lord,” he managed to say. 

Elladan smiled, taking pity on the warrior. The Elf was quite young in comparison; only into his fifth century or so. Besides, his body heartily approved of such an exercise and with so malleable a partner as Helmir. 

“‘Tis not the most opportune time or place for bed-play,” he murmured, tracing a random route with his hand up his companion’s thigh to its culmination at the groin. His smile grew more predatory at the involuntary hiss that elicited. “However, I would not be averse to a night’s indulgence with you once we return to Imladris.”

“Only a night, my lord?” Helmir had to clamp down savagely on his fast burgeoning need. 

Again that soft, dangerous chuckle. “Mayhap more. ‘Tis been long since I tasted male-flesh.” He suddenly snaked a hand around the other Elf and hauled him close for a demanding kiss that left them both looking forward to a speedy return to the valley.

But even in the midst of such heady pleasures, Elladan did not let his guard down and he abruptly broke off the caress, his ears picking up the all but silent footfalls of Glorfindel and the scouts. By the time they came upon him and Helmir, there was no evidence of their earlier ardor. 

The scouts had welcome news. They had located the brigands. The men had holed up in an all but abandoned settlement just a few miles northeast of their position.

oOoOoOo

They fell upon the band with all the ferocity of their Noldorin blood, tempered only by their adherence to the elven principles that demanded a modicum of humaneness towards even the most knavish of men. Only the orcs were never accorded this severely limited mercy. It was beyond the Elves to deal civilly with Morgoth’s foul creations.

As he plunged into the fray, Elladan, true to his training under Glorfindel, took swift appraisal of their people that he might know each and every warrior’s whereabouts. Thus, he was taken aback by the unexpected addition of another Elf. The flash of silver-gold hair stunned him so greatly that, but for his mercifully superb reflexes, he might have been skewered by the man he grappled with. 

Quickly dispatching his opponent with a belly-ripping stroke, he turned and shouted: “Legolas!” He savagely struck down another brigand as he forced his way to the prince’s side. “What in Arda are you doing here?” he bellowed when he neared the archer.

“What do you think?” Legolas yelled back. His eyes were aglow, almost brilliantly so, with the exultant light of battle. His white-hilted long knife was but a blur in his masterful hands as he gutted one man and nearly took the head off a second, so long and deep was the gash he delivered to the outlaw’s throat.

Elladan had no more time to question his friend as more men came at him. Valar, he thought grimly, they have managed to recruit far more members to their lawless cause than we suspected. He dealt with his foes swiftly enough. A few surrendered abruptly upon sighting the menacing gleam in his eyes, throwing down their weapons and cowering in dread before so fell an enemy. Through the corner of his eyes, he espied one man breaking away and fleeing the melee. 

The man was fast but his pursuer was faster. With frightening single-mindedness, Legolas overtook him before he had sprinted more than a few feet. Keeping a weather eye on him even as he finished the last of his opponents, Elladan noted the rage in the archer’s eyes and wondered at it in alarm. It was not a general rage but was directed at this one bandit in particular. His suspicion was soon confirmed when Legolas wrestled the man’s sword from him and without preamble hewed the latter’s legs from under him. The brigand fell, the stumps of his severed legs spewing blood everywhere. 

His was no merciful end. Legolas struck him again and again with strokes calculated to wound and torment but not to kill. Not just yet. Heedless of the man’s howls of pain and terror, he brought the sword down upon him repeatedly until the howls faded away into a gruesome gurgle and, finally, silence. 

Followed by an equally horrified Glorfindel and a handful of warriors, Elladan raced to the prince in a bid to bring his savagery to a halt. For Legolas did not stop his mauling of the now deceased bandit but relentlessly hacked at the body until it looked more like a carcass fit for the butcher’s block than the form of what had once been a human being. The Elvenlord grabbed at his friend’s arm, shocked by the steely strength that near defeated his efforts to pull him back from the black mire of uncontrollable fury that so tenaciously gripped him. 

“Stop, Legolas, please stop!" Elladan cried hoarsely. “Please, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—“it is over.” 

He finally managed to stay the archer’s arm before it brought down the bloodied sword yet again on the now unrecognizable corpse. Legolas was rigid with rage and he glared furiously at Elladan for daring to stop him.

“He is little more than meat for carrion beasts,” Elladan pointed out. “‘Tis enough.”

“Nay, ‘twill never be enough!” snarled the prince, snatching his arm from the Elf-lord’s grasp. He bent and grabbed something from the mangled body at their feet.

“Legolas—”

“‘Twas he who killed my mother!”

Elladan stared in shocked comprehension. The Mirkwood prince held in his hand a dismayingly familiar necklace. The older twin had seen it many a time hanging from Queen Ithilwen’s swan-neck. 

“Sweet Eru!" Elladan gasped. "This was the band that abducted your mother and sister?”

“And would have despoiled them had _Naneth_ not fought back!” Legolas growled. “They killed her for that, Elladan. For that and this!” He clenched his hand convulsively around the bauble. “I could not save her. Do you understand? I was too late! I failed her!”

“Nay, that is not true!”

“‘Twas I who told her it was safe enough for her and Nimeithel to go riding. I who failed to discover the presence of these orc-spawn in our forest. _Naneth_ would still be alive if I had done my duty well. Even then I failed her.”

“You cannot blame yourself. No one could have known—”

“And then I was incompetent enough to let these dogs escape!”

“You must stop—”

“I failed her, Elladan! She died because of me!”

“Enough!” Elladan roared, startling everyone into stillness including Legolas. He grabbed the prince and shook him fiercely, unmindful of the shocked stares of the others.

“Get a hold of yourself, _gwador_!”—sworn brother—he rasped. “You debase yourself needlessly. Think you any of us can bear to see you in this state? Have pity on us if not on yourself.”

At his words, Legolas seemed to notice the others for the first time. He flushed and averted his eyes compelling Glorfindel to tactfully lead the others back to main road of the settlement. Nonetheless, when he met Elladan’s gaze again, his eyes were still dark and baleful, barely mastered rage in the near-indigo depths. The twin sighed wearily.

“Come, you must return to Imladris,” he said. “Your disappearance will have caused everyone much anxiety.”

Legolas started then stared at him in dawning realization. 

“Aye, you are right,” he conceded. “I did not consider that when I followed you.”

Elladan nodded. “I thought not. Let us not tarry. I shudder to think what Father will say when we get back.”

They hastened back to rejoin Glorfindel. The Elda glanced frowningly at Legolas, dismayed that the prince had somehow managed to slip past the close guard kept on him. But he held his peace and only mildly inquired as to whether either Elf had incurred any injuries during the fighting. Having ascertained that none of his warriors had sustained anything more serious than shallow cuts and bruises, the fair-haired captain gave the order to prepare for the long trek back to Imladris. Prudently, he also sent two Elves ahead of the troop to get word soonest to Rivendell that Legolas was safe with them. 

Taking only as much time as was necessary to burn the dead, wash off the grime and gore of battle and change into clean clothing, the patrol set off. But first they brought their prisoners to the nearest human village; whenever possible, the Elves preferred to let Men deal with their own. Then they went on their way at a hurried pace. Some inner voice told Elladan that it would be best if they gained the valley soonest and he persuaded Glorfindel to allow only the briefest of stops along the way. 

Legolas remained silent for the most part, speaking only when spoken to. The twin wondered what thoughts troubled his friend’s mind. Mindful of Thranduil's warnings, he and Glorfindel contrived to keep Legolas between them at all times the entire trip back to Imladris. The prince did not object to their obvious protectiveness and continued to hold his tongue with disconcerting stolidity.

It was only when they finally descended into the vale and crossed the Bruinen that the prince came out of his distressing silence. He turned restive as they neared the Last Homely House. 

“I suppose I shall have to explain myself to Lord Elrond,” Legolas grimaced at length.

Elladan was staring at something in the distance. His expression did not bode well for the prince’s peace of mind. “'Tis not _Adar_ you have to worry about but Elrohir,” he warned.

Legolas snapped his eyes in the direction of Elladan’s stare. He sucked in his breath. The younger twin awaited them by the stables, his eyes black and stormy, mouth grim and tight, his entire body tense as a drawn bowstring. The prince quailed inwardly. He had never yet had Elrohir’s fearsome rage directed at him. 

It was apparent the other warriors had and that they did not wish to confront the younger twin while he was in that state for they changed their course and headed for the rear doors of the stables instead. Even Glorfindel chose to join them, leading his steed away from the inevitable confrontation. Legolas let out an apprehensive breath as he and Elladan reached the stables’ main gates.

Hardly had they dismounted when Elrohir grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

“You sneaked out on me!” the Elf-lord growled. “You promised me you would not leave Imladris!”

“I am sorry,” Legolas lamely apologized.

“I trusted you!” Elrohir spat out in his agitation, his body beginning to tremble as his fury mounted. “I thought that meant something to you!”

Legolas’s eyes widened. Stricken with remorse, he suddenly threw his arms around the other Elf, burying his face in Elrohir’s shoulder.

“Forgive me, Elrohir! Please forgive me!” he cried out. 

For a terrible moment, Elrohir stiffened and did not respond. He looked across at Elladan who looked back at him with grave concern. Finally, the younger twin exhaled sharply and hugged the prince back though, Legolas noticed anxiously, he was still shaking with emotion. 

“I did not mean to lose my temper,” he said heavily. “'Tis just that... Valar, Legolas! I was so scared! We looked everywhere for you and when I realized you’d followed the troop…” He shuddered as he relived the fear and anxiety following his discovery. Legolas, sensing the other’s renewed tension, bit his lip guiltily and tightened his embrace of his friend.

Elrohir roughly grasped the prince by his arms and held him away, his pewter eyes flashing vexedly. “Don’t ever do that again, Calenlass!” he hissed, not quite able to banish the ire in his voice. 

“I won’t,” Legolas promised fervently. “But, please, do not look at me like that, Elrohir,” he pleaded. “It breaks my heart to have you angry with me.” He gulped painfully. “I... I am not used to it.”

Elrohir went still. With an effort, he reined in his temper. He blew his breath out, releasing the remaining tension in his body. Then he nodded and pulled the archer back into his arms. Legolas gratefully accepted the much calmer embrace. 

After a while, he obediently accompanied Elrohir to the house. Elladan, however, felt much too wound up to follow suit. 

The harrowing events just past and his discovery of Legolas’s capacity for such un-elvish brutality was perturbing to say the least. He needed to release some of his tension and he doubted he would find the means inside the Last Homely House. Catching sight of Helmir heading for the barracks with the other warriors, he remembered the Elf’s not-so-subtle invitation before the encounter with the brigands. With a purposeful gleam in his slate-blue eyes, he strode towards the barracks, already tugging impatiently at the clasps of his tunic. 

Needless to say, young Helmir did not get any rest for what remained of the afternoon. Not that he took umbrage at the Elvenlord’s peremptory demand for the pleasure of his company or the resulting order that he make himself available – and accommodating – for the next several nights.

******************************************  
Glossary:  
Hisimë - Quenya for November 

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

When night fell and Legolas did not appear in the dining hall for the evening meal, Elrohir took it upon himself to fetch him.

He walked into Legolas’s chamber and stopped in some surprise. The prince sat slumped in the armchair in the far corner of the room, apparently fast asleep. He had not changed out of his travel-stained clothing; had not even bothered to shed his tunic, belt or boots. Elrohir approached him with some concerrn.

“Legolas?“ he softly said, shaking the archer gently. “Wake up. ‘Tis time for dinner.” 

But Legolas did not respond. Elrohir straightened up, wondering how to rouse his friend. Just then, the prince stirred and let out a pained moan. Elrohir quickly bent over him once more.

“Wake up, Calenlass,” he urged a little more loudly. “You are having a bad dream, I think.” 

Elrohir frowned as the archer continued to moan, the sounds becoming a little more worrisome. “Legolas? Legolas, wake up.” He shook the prince a little more firmly. “Come on, _ernilen_ ”—my prince—“you are scaring me.”

Without warning, the archer’s arm lashed out at him. The sharp blow to his temple was enough to send him staggering backwards. Elrohir shook his head groggily. _Elbereth! I did not see that coming!_

A glint of metal caught his attention. He barely managed to dodge the arcing slice of Legolas’s knife. He gaped in shock at the Elf-prince.

Legolas had risen from the chair and now stalked him with homicidal intent. His eyes were oddly blank but his face bore the determined scowl Elrohir had seen countless times before.

So he looks when he hunts scoundrels and the like, the twin realized with a thrill of apprehension. _He thinks I’m one of them!_

His supposition was abruptly confirmed when Legolas lunged at him, his dagger leveled at a deadly angle. Again he managed to evade the blow. Just barely. But he was not sanguine about his chances of continuing to do so indefinitely. Legolas was a Wood-elf with skill second to none in the use of knives. The prince did not let up in his assault, gave the darkling Elf no time to catch his breath or pause in his evasions of the flashing blade.

“Legolas!” Elrohir cried out desperately as the blade came within a hair’s breadth of slicing his cheek open. “ _Gwador_ , ‘tis me, Elrohir!”

His frantic pleas were to no avail. The prince was lost in whatever waking nightmare drove him in this relentless pursuit of his imagined foe. And he was tireless. The demons that possessed him provided him with a vast reservoir of extra strength and energy.

Legolas suddenly scooped up a heavy figurine from the study table and hurled it at the twin. Elrohir leapt out of the way and the weighty object crashed against the wall behind him. But in dodging it, he was briefly distracted and that momentary inattention cost him. He yelped as Legolas neatly slashed his left arm just below the shoulder. Bleeding profusely from the wound, he was slow to react to the archer’s next move.

He hissed in pain as he was brutally slammed against the wall. Legolas rammed his forearm up against his throat, nearly crushing his windpipe. Clawing desperately at the prince’s arm, he saw, through the corner of his eye, the knife curving downwards. He barely managed to grab Legolas’s wrist, keeping the blade just inches from his vulnerable neck.

“L-Legolas, s-stop!” he choked.

The pressure on his throat was unforgiving. He dizzily wondered what would kill him first, suffocation or the knife’s lethal bite. His vision began to tunnel from lack of air. His strength started to ebb. He felt the tip of the blade pierce his flesh.

Salvation came in the forms of Elladan and Glorfindel as they burst into the room followed by Elrond, Erestor, Celebrían and Arwen. The first two Elves wasted no time gawking at the horrifying spectacle before them but rushed the struggling pair. With a concerted effort, they pried Legolas from his intended prey.

Elrohir sank to his knees, coughing violently and raggedly gulping down much-needed air. He was dimly aware of his parents hovering over him, Elrond examining his bruised throat and Celebrían looking over his bleeding arm.

Elladan and Glorfindel were shocked at the Elven prince’s strength. Legolas twisted wildly in their hands, nearly breaking away from them at one point. They could not let go of his arms in order to take away his weapon.

“Disarm him!” Glorfindel yelled to Erestor.

The steward swiftly obeyed and attempted to pry Legolas’s fingers from his knife. But the prince had a death grip on his weapon that defied Erestor’s best efforts. “I will have to break his fingers!” he exclaimed in frustration.

“Nay!” Elrohir staggered to his feet, throwing off his mother’s restraining hand. “Hold him!” he said hoarsely.

When Glorfindel and Elladan had redoubled their grip on the prince, the younger twin swung a clenched fist at Legolas’ jaw. The blow was not so hard as to render the archer completely unconscious but it was enough to literally knock sense into him.

Legolas fell back, blinked confusedly for several seconds at the Elf-knight, then slumped into his captors’ arms. The knife clattered to the floor. They lifted him and bore him to his bed.

Celebrían summoned a white-faced Arwen. “I need bandages and medicaments, _iell_ ”—daughter—she told her as she eyed Elrohir’s bleeding arm. “Hurry now!”

“And I had better make a sleeping draught for Legolas,” Elrond decided. “I had hoped we would never have to resort to that but…” 

As her husband exited the room, Celebrían commenced cleaning Elrohir’s wound. Arwen soon returned with the necessary medical supplies and mother and daughter set to work tending the younger twin’s injuries. 

Meanwhile, Elladan, Glorfindel and Erestor stripped the prince of his tunic, belt and boots, carefully searching for any concealed weapons. Like many seasoned warriors, Legolas oft hid an extra knife or two on his person. Erestor had already located a thin, long-bladed _sigil_ in his right boot.

After finishing their task, the women rose and left the room with Glorfindel and Erestor. By unspoken agreement, the twins remained with the prince.

It was not long before Legolas twitched then groaned as he slowly emerged from the half conscious state Elrohir’s punch had sent him into. He opened his eyes and beheld Elladan watching him worriedly.

“What...?” he muttered. He raised a hand to his jaw, wondering why it ached. After a few more moments, he finally recognized the interiors of his bedchamber. He frowned in perplexity. “How did I get back here?” he mumbled. “And what happened to that bandit?”

Elladan sighed and squeezed his shoulder. “You were in your room all along.” He hesitated. “And ‘twas no bandit you were grappling with.”

Legolas’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Then who—?” He noticed Elladan had flicked his eyes to something behind him. He turned his head, suddenly aware of another presence. His eyes widened in shock.

Elrohir was a sorry sight. The mark on his temple had darkened to a black and blue smudge, the colors matching the multiple bruises on his pale throat. The cut on his neck had already closed but his collar was red with telltale bloodstains. His left sleeve had been torn off just below the shoulder and his arm was bound. Blood also stained what remained of the sleeve and the left side of his shirt.

Horror filled Legolas’ eyes. “How—?” He swallowed painfully. “Did I...?” Elrohir bit his lip and nodded. The prince moaned and abruptly sat up. He moved to get of the bed. “I must go!” he cried.

Two pairs of strong hands held him in place. “Where do you think you’re going?” Elladan demanded. 

“I am a menace to you all,” Legolas choked. “I cannot stay here.”

“Lie down, Legolas,” Elrohir said firmly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“But, Elrohir, I nearly killed you!” Legolas protested.

“I can take care of myself,” the younger twin grimly answered, resolved never to tell the prince just how close he had indeed come to ending his life.

“But what if it had been your mother or Arwen I attacked?” Legolas pointed out hoarsely.

“They were never in any danger,” Elrond replied as he entered the room, bearing a goblet. “They knew enough never to be alone with you.”

Legolas gaped at the Lord of Rivendell. “You-you know about…?” His voice trailed off at the knowing light in the loremaster’s eyes

“Of course, _pen neth_ ”—young one—Elrond nodded. “A healer of any worth always learns as much about his patients as is possible. Your father told us everything that happened in the wake of your mother’s death.”

Legolas dropped his head shamefacedly. “Yet you took me in, knowing what I had become.” 

“You have not become anything,” Elrohir reproved him gently. “You will be healed of this, Legolas." 

“But you must let us help you,” Elladan added.

“My sons are correct,” Elrond agreed. “You should heed them. Here, drink this,” he said, handing over the goblet. “It will help you sleep tonight.”

Legolas took the goblet and drank the contents. But he kept his eyes cast down, shriveled by his shame and guilt. He could not even look at Elrohir whose battered appearance he could thank the woodland prince for. The darkling Elf instinctively discerned what he was thinking, so close had they become as their friendship progressed and deepened.

“Do not blame yourself for this, Calenlass,” he murmured gently. “You were not yourself.” 

“But I hurt you,” Legolas choked, his voice thick with self-loathing. “This should never have happened.”

“Yet I would go through it again if it would help you mend,” the twin said fiercely. “I would see you healed, Legolas, I would have you whole.”

Legolas stared at him, moved by the other’s loyalty and selflessness. He nodded dumbly.

“Good. Let us hear no more about you leaving,” Elrohir smiled tenderly.

“I-I am so s-sorry,” Legolas whispered. 

“There is no need to apologize for I know you would never hurt me knowingly,” the twin responded. “Now, lie down and get some rest. Mandos knows you need it.”

Legolas found he could not protest. The sleeping draught was already taking hold of him, lulling him into a soothing state of nothingness.

“Lord Elrond?” he managed to mumble before sleep overcame him. “Please forgive me.”

“As my son said, there is nothing to forgive,” Elrond replied softly. “Be at peace.”

When Legolas was fast asleep the Elves convened outside his room where Celebrían and Arwen joined them. 

“He must not be left alone tonight,” Elrond gravely stated. “He must not feel forsaken because of what has happened.”

Elrohir snorted. “As if I would ever let that happen,” he said. “I will stay with him.”

“As will I,” Elladan added.

Arwen chimed in. “And I.”

Celebrían raised an eyebrow at her daughter’s offer. Her face turned anxious. “I do not think that is wise, _iellen_ ”—my daughter—she objected. “What if he turns violent again?” 

Arwen’s expression turned mulish, a look so reminiscent of her brothers at their most stubborn that Elrond had to smile. “Legolas is my friend, too, _Nana_ ”—Mama—she pointed out. “If he sees that we are determined to stand by him, he will heal all the faster.”

Celebrían turned imploring eyes to her husband but Elrond could only shake his head and say: “I fear I have to agree with Arwen, _mellen_ ”—my dear. “Legolas’s recovery hinges as much on our acceptance of him as it does on his ability to stop blaming himself for Ithilwen’s death.”

With a resigned sigh, Celebrían nodded her acquiescence and the three young Elves prepared themselves for a night of guardianship over the woodland prince. 

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

Legolas woke up slowly, his memories of the night before a jumble of images and sounds that as yet made no sense. He became aware of a familiar, comforting scent and the warmth of powerful arms holding him. He came awake with a jolt when he recognized the Elf before him.

Elrohir lay propped up against a plump pillow, slightly on his side so that he cradled Legolas in his arms allowing the prince to rest his head against his chest. The twin was fast asleep as evinced by his closed eyes and even breathing. He had changed into fresh nightclothes and, save for the bruises on his temple and throat, looked none the worse for the horrific assault Legolas had subjected him to. 

Memory came surging back to the archer with singular clarity. He gazed at the younger twin in mingled remorse and bemusement before becoming conscious of more than one presence in his bed. 

He turned his head and looked behind him. There lay a sleeping Elladan, also on his side facing the prince, his arms folded across his chest. Getting more and more perplexed, Legolas sensed yet another figure at the foot of his large bed. He glanced down and gasped. Her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, Arwen slumbered peacefully, her slim form shrouded in a warm blanket. 

Legolas was astounded. The siblings had stayed the night with him. And they had arranged themselves in such a way that he would feel utterly protected and comforted when he finally awoke from his drug-induced sleep. It was then that he realized they had also divested him of his soiled clothing, sponged him clean and dressed him in sleeping attire. He swallowed hard at this evidence of their love for him. 

“Are you all right, Calenlass?” a soft voice caught his attention. He glanced up at Elrohir, the only one who used the affectionate pet name on him.

He nodded and said in a hushed voice: “Thank you."

“Don’t mention it,” Arwen said with a drowsy smile, rising from her position.

“Aye, think nothing of it,” Elladan yawningly agreed from behind him.

Legolas was indescribably touched. “I do not know how I can ever repay you,” he said. “After what I did...“

Arwen leaned forward and put her fingers to his lips. “You are our hearts’ brother, Legolas. There is nothing to repay.” She withdrew her hand. “However, ‘tis time that you properly grieved.”

Elladan nodded. “You must express your sorrow else you will never fully recover.”

Tears stung the archer’s eyes but refused to fall. He said brokenly: “How can I grieve when ‘twas I who caused her death?”

Elladan said firmly: “'Twas not your fault, _gwador_. ‘Twas no one’s fault. Your mother would be the first to tell you that if she were here.”

Arwen took his hand and squeezed it. “Please, Legolas, do not try to hold in your sadness. Let it out. You will honor her that way.”

Legolas felt his throat tighten. It was so difficult. He had held in his self-hatred and guilt for so long. How could he weep now?

He felt Elrohir’s lips near his ear. “Even were you truly to blame for her passing, ‘twould still be your right to grieve for her,” he murmured. At Legolas's startled stare, he said emphatically: “‘Tis the right of any child to mourn a parent’s loss even should that loss lie at the child's feet. Yet this was not your doing, Legolas. No one believes it, not your family or us and your beloved _naneth_ , least of all. Only you believe it and by doing so bring no peace to her spirit." 

The prince's stare turned watery, the first hint of the dam starting to erode. Elrohir said sadly, "Ah, if only I could, I would bear your sorrow. I would take your pain. What will it take for you to accept the truth? Please tell me, Calenlass. I can no longer bear to see you thus.” 

He looked at the younger twin. The Elf’s grey eyes swam as he gazed at the archer. There was compassion in his gaze and infinite patience and wholehearted trust and acceptance and so much more. Elrohir’s unflinching empathy finally breached the dam of Legolas’ emotions. The prince shuddered as the first tears began to spill from his eyes. 

With a harsh sob, he buried his face in the Elf-knight’s chest and wept for the first time since Ithilwen’s death. Elrohir held him tightly, stroking his shining hair, whispering soothing words. Elladan and Arwen smiled with relief through their own tears. Leave it to Elrohir to get to the heart of the matter. He had always known Legolas best and understood his needs long before others were even aware they existed. 

The prince cried for the better part of an hour, emptying himself until he was so spent he slipped into deep slumber once more. The siblings did not abandon him even then but took turns watching over him. When he awakened several hours later, he found Elrohir patiently sitting by the bed. No hint of wariness or accusation clouded his eyes in spite of what the archer had done to him the last time he had come upon him alone. Legolas was profoundly touched.

oOoOoOo

Elrond looked up from the documents he’d been perusing when Elladan entered the study. The older twin sank down quietly into one of the chairs facing his father’s ornate desk.

“How is Legolas?” Elrond inquired.

“Elrohir brought him to the dining hall for a light meal,” Elladan replied. “He hasn’t had anything to eat since yestermorn and the incident last night took quite a bit out of him.”

“Understandably,” Elrond commented. “And did this morning’s business prove cathartic as well?”

“Amazingly so. He finally let out his grief. It helped that Elrohir knew what to say and do.” The Elf-warrior pursed his lips musingly. “As always.”

Elrond took note of his older son’s odd tone of voice. “What is it, _gwaniuar_? Do you take exception to your brother’s affinity with the prince?”

Elladan looked at his father, startled. “Of course not!” he replied. “Elbereth knows we have all hoped he would find a friend such as he has in Legolas. I have no quarrel with their closeness at all. It’s just that...”

“Yes...?”

“I worry that his regard is far more profound than it should be.” Elladan looked uncertainly at his father. “You know how he is. Ever slow to yield his heart but fiercely committed once it is yielded.”

Elrond frowned. “Do you suspect that Elrohir has began to feel something other than the love of a friend for Legolas?”

“I truly do not know,” the twin answered. “He professes that he does not and I have always trusted his judgment of himself. But his demeanor with Legolas disturbs me at times.” He hesitated. “He is too... tender and understanding. He sometimes reminds of... well, of you... the way you are with _Nana._ ”

Elrond stared at his son in surprise. “I had not noticed,” he admitted. “It has ever been his manner with Legolas since the first of your acquaintanceship.”

“And it has made me wonder ever since, _Ada_ , for it has never been Elrohir’s wont to be enamored so swiftly or to dote so fulsomely on any outside of our family. I am concerned that his feelings have deepened far more than is seemly and will continue to deepen with the years. He denies it but his actions belie his words.”

“This is indeed awkward,” Elrond mused. “Considering the present constraints in Eryn Galen...”

“Exactly. Were it an Elf from hereabouts or Lindon or Lórien, there would be no cause for alarm. But Legolas—! Unless the situation changes in Greenwood I see no possible solution should my suspicions prove true.” He looked imploringly at his father. “Ai, _Ada_ , what if I am right? I do not want Elrohir to suffer such a grievous hurt.” 

Elrond swiftly rose and went to his son. Placing a comforting hand on the Elf-warrior’s shoulder, he gently said: “‘Tis natural that you should fear for him for he is your twin and closer to you than any other. But you cannot shield him from his heart’s desires or the pain that may come to him as a result. You can only be there for him when he has need of your love and solace. At least, be glad he seeks his life’s mate amongst our kindred and not in the ranks of mortal-kind as my brother did. ‘Twas difficult enough letting Elros go. I do not think I could endure the loss of any of my children to that fate as well.”

Elladan stared at his father’s suddenly sorrowful countenance. “I am sorry, _Ada_!” he softly exclaimed. “I should not have reminded you of—”

“Not your doing, _gwaniuar_ ,” Elrond swiftly cut him off. “That tragedy and the pain of it is something I live with every day of my life. But you and your mother and siblings have brought me such great joy that it has more than compensated me for the loss of my brother.” He shook Elladan affectionately. “As your caring will compensate Elrohir for any heartbreak he may need to bear.”

“I hope ‘twill be enough,” Elladan remarked gravely. “But I will do my utmost to help him, that I promise.”

Elrond’s lips quirked with unexpected humor. “Help him what? To get over the loss of love or to win it?”

The older twin had to grin in return albeit weakly. “Whichever he will need,” he rejoined.

Their conversation was necessarily ended by the appearance of the subjects of it. While Elrond returned to his seat behind his desk, Elrohir led a subdued Legolas to the comfortable couch against the near wall. He made to move to another chair but the prince pleadingly pulled him back and he relented and sat by his friend instead. Legolas looked up with some trepidation at the twins’ father but, to his relief, he saw naught but kindness and sympathy in Elrond’s grey eyes.

“I wish to apologize for everything that has happened, Lord Elrond,” he haltingly began. “I know I have been a burden to you and yours and—”

“You have not been a burden,” Elrond corrected him. “It has ever been our delight to have you with us.”

“You are too kind, my lord,” Legolas murmured. 

“Not at all, Legolas,” the Imladrin lord replied. “Would we turn away or forsake one we consider a part of our family? Certainly, my sons would turn on me were I to do so.”

Legolas blushed then glanced gratefully from one twin to the other before addressing Elrond once more. “You said Father told you about... what I did after...? He trailed off uncomfortably. 

“Thranduil recounted to us that you attacked several members of his household and even some of your mother’s kin,” Elrond said. “He mentioned your latest victim was Brethildor which was fortunate as your brother is a formidable warrior and well able to defend himself.” He paused to allow Legolas time to digest the information. “He also told us that these bouts of rage usually took place after a violent engagement and always when you were asleep or in a semi-conscious state. For that reason, I gave instructions to everyone never to approach you by themselves particularly when you were unconscious or newly awakened.” 

Legolas flinched, discomposed by the former’s frankness. “After I assaulted Brethildor, Father took me off scout duty and also ensured no one ever remained alone with me when I slept,” he admitted. “‘Twas a wise move and kept me from hurting anyone else. I am only thankful no one died as a result of my madness.” He darted a haunted look at Elrohir. 

Despite the Elf-knight’s refusal to reveal anything further of what the prince had done to him, Legolas suspected his friend may very well have become the first casualty of his unbidden rampages. 

Elrond shook his head. “‘Twas not madness that drove you, _ernil neth_ ”—young prince—“but only your deep-seated feelings of guilt and hatred. You refused to express your sorrow or confide your sense of worthlessness and self-recrimination and thus buried these feelings deep in your mind. ‘Twas a dangerous thing to do for they surfaced when you were not in control of your conscious thought and manifested themselves in your assaults on any who happened to be in your presence.” 

Legolas glanced at Elrohir again, shame mingling with curiosity. “You knew ‘twas perilous to be alone with me when I was unconscious and after a fight no less. Why did you do so last night?” he queried.

Elrohir sighed. “A foolish miscalculation,” he said. “I thought you had expended all your rage during the encounter with the bandits and would not harbor hidden feelings so soon after.”

Elrond demurred. “‘Twas a reasonable assumption, _gwanneth_ ” —younger twin—he pointed out. He looked once more at the prince “Your outburst with Elladan was the first you’d given in to since your mother’s passing. Though you had loosened up enough with my sons to express displeasure...” He paused when Legolas cast a pained look at the twins. “You were not quite yourself, Legolas. My sons knew all too well what drove you and did not take it against you.” He waited for the prince’s discomfiture to subside before continuing. “As I was saying, though you were able to release some of your tension, it was not enough. You needed a more exhaustive outlet for your rage and your expression of it after the battle with the bandits was an important step in the right direction. I very much doubt you would have attacked Elrohir had you given full vent to your feelings after that encounter.”

“That was my doing,” Elladan said ruefully. “I should have known better than to stop Legolas from expending his feelings. Instead, I stupidly caused him to bottle them up once more. How I ever imagined I could be as good a healer as you, _Ada_ , is beyond me.”

Elrond smiled faintly. “Do not blame yourself overmuch, Elladan,” he said. “You were newly come from battle and could hardly be expected to think clearly. Besides, the path to healing is not always straight and true and many obstacles arise unlooked for that even the most tested of healers cannot anticipate.”

Legolas looked at him uncertainly. “Will I... will I do this again?” he asked in a hushed voice.

“That will depend on you,” Elrond honestly replied. “That you finally allowed yourself to mourn your mother was an even bigger step toward healing. If you cease to keep these feelings of hate and self-blame to yourself, if you vent them instead of repressing them, I see no reason why your spirit should not eventually be healed in full.”

Legolas nodded slowly. He looked from Elrohir to Elladan. “I have the two of you to thank,” he murmured. “You showed me nothing but utmost patience and understanding even when I took out my anger on you. If only I had trusted you more, the attack last night...” He shuddered. Getting a hold of himself, he continued. “You are right, Lord Elrond. In all these months that I did not grieve, I felt such a heaviness of spirit that I could scarcely breath freely. The burden is not so oppressive now though I will confess, I still feel...” He gulped, forced down the tightness in his throat. “I cannot stop blaming myself for what happened. I keep thinking that had I been more vigilant, _Naneth_ would still be alive. Even now, I want to kill those knaves all over again!” He closed his eyes, bent his head. “I have oft dreamt of how I would slay them and now that the deed is done I feel I was too merciful and wish I had prolonged their torment. ‘Tis a terrible thing to desire but I cannot help it. I...” He stopped, shivering from the intensity of his emotions. 

He felt a hand take his and hold it fast. Raising his head, he realized it was Elrohir. He flushed but held his friend’s hand in turn, thankful for his boundless compassion and unconditional acceptance. 

“I am rambling,” he murmured a little embarrassedly.

The grip on his hand tightened reassuringly. 

“Ramble as much as you want, Calenlass,” the Elf-knight gently said. “We are listening.”

Legolas took heart, drew a steadying breath, and did.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

_Nénimë_ T.A. 1053  
Legolas gazed upon the snow-covered gardens of the Last Homely House. He was standing on the porch overlooking the gardens, unmindful as any Elf of the crisp winter breeze that swirled around his slender form. In the distance, the cascades’ roar had been reduced to a mere whisper, as the rapids that fed the falls lay dormant, locked for the most part in the frozen embrace of ice. Consequently, only a lovely, lacy trickle remained of the cascades’ usual turbulence.

Near noiseless footfalls marked the approach of the twins and Legolas beamed a welcome at the two as they flanked him. For a comfortable while, they too regarded the pristine landscape in silence.

“A silver piece for your thoughts, _gwador_ ,” Elladan said at length.

Legolas’s smile turned a little pensive. “I was just wondering... does Valinor have winter?” At the brethren’s bemused expressions, he added: “My mother loved winter. She would be disappointed if she could not look forward to the joys of the season.”

Elrohir had to smile at that. “Glorfindel has said that ‘twas perpetual spring and summer in Aman when last he lived there before returning to Middle-earth,” he commented. “But he also told us that the Powers have oft altered Valinor to suit the needs of our kindred. Who knows, mayhap they may choose to introduce the season of winter for the Elves who seek it.”

“Mild winters, I hope,” Elladan wryly commented. “I cannot fathom why anyone would look forward to cumbersome snowdrifts and ice-covered pathways that threaten everyone with a tumble or worse.”

Legolas chuckled. “If Mother loved this season, ‘tis because Father fell in love with her one winter.”

“Did he now?”

“Aye, after she struck him with a fistful of snow.”

“She did what?!” Elrohir gasped laughingly. “That was brave of her.”

Legolas grinned. “Which is why _Adar_ fell in love with her. She was the first and only Elf-maid not to be overly impressed by his title.”

“How... romantic...” Elladan grimaced to the amusement of the others.

“Romance is in the eye of the beholder, _gwaniuar_ ,” Elrohir teasingly chided him. “You know that.”

“Mayhap,” Elladan said doubtfully. He glanced at Legolas curiously. “Spring will soon be here. What are your plans?”

The prince fell into thoughtful silence. Just the previous evening, Lord Elrond had declared him well enough to return to Greenwood. Since his horrific assault on Elrohir, there had been only one like incident to mar Rivendell’s peace but it had not been as vicious an attack and the twins had successfully roused him from his unwitting violence. That had been the last of his regrettable outbursts. 

Healing had come not only with the expression of his deep-seated feelings regarding his mother’s death but also with his acceptance of what had happened and his ability to stop holding himself culpable for what had passed. In doing so, he had finally been able to mourn his mother in full and, with that, the terrible bouts of rage had ceased once and for all.

“I think I shall visit her grave as soon as I get home,” he mused quietly. “I will place flowers upon it as I should have when we first laid her to rest, sing to her mayhap... grieve a little more.” He sighed. “Spend time with Father and Nimeithel and my brothers. We need each other, I realize that now.”

“Then you are truly healed,” Elrohir softly said. 

Legolas smiled at his friend. Then his eyes clouded somewhat. 

“What is wrong?”

“Not wrong. Only...” The archer bit his lip. “'Tis strange for I have been here far longer than I ever have before... yet I am loath to leave and forego your company.” He looked from one brother to the other. “You took such good care of me that I know I will sorely miss your attentions. I will miss you.”

Twin pairs of raven eyebrows rose in unison. With tender smiles, the brethren placed soothing hands on the prince’s shoulders.

“We will miss you, too, Calenlass,” Elrohir said. “But if fate smiles upon us, we will be reunited ere long.”

“That will not be soon enough for me,” Legolas sighed. 

But he smiled nevertheless as each brother squeezed his shoulders consolingly. He was blessed to have won such inimitable affection and implacable loyalty. Twice blessed to have doubly won both. Come spring, he would be parted from them when the inevitable calls of princely duty and honor beckoned to them all but in their deep and abiding friendship he knew they could never be truly sundered. Not even if all the leagues of Middle-earth lay between them. In that thought he found the greatest comfort of all. 

***************************************  
Glossary:  
Nénimë – Quenya for February  
Naneth - Mother  
Adar - Father

_End of Part V._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part VI: Heart’s Brother - Gandalf hints that the conditions pertaining to the choice of the Peredhil are not as implacable as Elrond’s children think._


End file.
